What Nobody Sees
by Wah-Keetcha
Summary: Hostage situation. Boring right? Not when your flat mate is the hostage.
1. Chapter 1

Title: What Nobody Sees

Rating: T

Summary: Hostage situation. Boring right? Not when your flat mate is the hostage.

Warnings: I know very little about the British Society and wording, so you'll forgive me if I'm just another ignorant American too poor to visit the actual place this story is going on in and can only Google places, buildings and procedures.

Author Note: Uh oh… Wah found a new Fandom, by way of accident really. I blame my college friends and a lot of free time. I like John Watson and my friend and I were greatly annoyed to find that the BBC TV show made him kind of… dumb. So, in this story I'm giving Mr. Watson balls of steel and a medical mind. Don't really know where I'm going with this one, but if you'd like you may hang on for the ride.

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Chapter one

The chime of a phone pulls his attention away from his experiment, eyes narrowing a fraction at the sound before a sigh of exasperation accompanies an eye roll. It wouldn't take a genius to notice that the great Sherlock Holmes the world's only consulting detective is annoyed with the interruption. Within the span of a second the chime goes off again, signaling two texts waiting. Cursing to himself the detective stands and rips the rubber gloves off before digging through his coat's pocket and flipping open the phone. Activating the messages Sherlock rolls his eyes as Lestrade's number scrolls across.

_Bank robbery in progress, come quickly. _Followed by the second message belaying the address of the robbery, the DI having thought an in progress robbery enough to entice him to leave his current experiment. With nimble efficiency the detective shoots the DI back another message hoping briefly that he will be able to make his disinterest evident.

_Boring, even you should be able to figure out why a man would want to rob a bank. No one is dead or dying._

With a satisfied smirk the young man places the phone on the table and spins on his heel, grabbing two new gloves. He's about to pull on the fresh set and return to his experiment when the sleek black phone chimes again, the vibration setting the liquid in the beakers quivering. With an exasperated snarl Sherlock flips open the phone and activate the message, ready to give Lestrade a electronic tongue lashing when his eyes widen at the body of the DI's last message.

_John Watson is inside, the robber is keeping hostages_

The phone is closed with a metallic click and Sherlock is moving in quickly, donning his jacket and scarf. Mind whirling with thoughts of his flat mate and the reasons behind a person taking hostages in a bank while he races down the steps, his heavy steps causing Mrs. Hudson to question his running about.

"I will be back late Mrs. Hudson!" he shouts and practically leaps out the door only to throw it back open, his words echoing in the small apartment.

"And don't watch the news!" he shouts before slamming the door behind him. Out on the street the detective hails a cab, bribing the driver with a generous tip is he can get him to the address as quickly as possible. Thoughts whirl around in his mind as he struggles to pick out the key facts, any reasons why his flat mate would be in such a situation.

He gasps, fingers coming together in front of his chin.

Today was the third of the month.

John's pension check had arrived. That's why he was at the bank and currently stuck in the middle of a robbery.

* * *

John Watson wasn't having a good day. When he arrived home an hour before the flat was in a mess, neglected due to a case and John's own work schedule. Sherlock was nowhere to be found and there was a half a gallon of curdled milk in the fridge and no tea bags. The post had arrived earlier and was strewn across the kitchen table, including his military pension check, the only good thing to happen to him. Having made a list and signed the back of his check the former soldier quickly left the apartment, heading for the bank he usually used. Once inside he had to hold back a groan at the line, one made up of elderly social security pensioners and grumbling shop owners trying to cash in their daily haul.

And the gun waving, screaming mad man isn't making it any better.

The bank floor is cold, the chill already seeping through his jacket and into his bad shoulder making the already compromised joint ache terribly. Around him the other unfortunate patrons are a mess. An elderly husband clutches onto his wife, his thin frame trying to protect hers as the robber walks amongst his victims, his eyes hard behind the thick lenses. John scans the other people, his medical eye taking over as he watches the reactions of those around him.

The overweight middle aged man is breathing heavily, his bulk making it difficult for his lungs to expand.

The elderly woman with the oxygen container is shaking uncontrollably, her breathing uneven and hoarse, and her husband hovering anxiously beside her.

The woman trying to silence her baby in the corner, tears streaking down her face in long trails as the infant wails, picking up on her distress.

John could go on like this for hours, watching the other patrons, cataloging their medical issues into where they would each fall on an importance scale. He may not be as quick as his flat mate or have the uncanny ability to pick out the tiniest details and draw outrageous conclusions from them, but he knows his job and knows how fragile the human body is when pressed into a stressful situation.

"Edith?" one of the elderly men croak, his words frantic as his wife with the oxygen canister slumps over, her mouth gaping like a fish as she struggles to breath. John tenses, his eyes shooting back to where the gun man is ranting, the gun held in trembling hands.

"Edith! My god, somebody…" he trails off, his liver spotted hands gripping the woman's thin shoulders. John pushes himself up off the floor, knowing he's just drawn the attention of the mad man but not caring as he drops down in front of the elderly man and his wife.

"It's alright, I'm a doctor." He tries to reassure the older man and turns to assess the woman's condition. His fingers gently roll up a cuff on her sweater and he begins to mentally count off, focus solely on his patient.

"I said on the floor!" The gun man screams, his shadow falling over the elderly woman and John. John glares at the man from over his shoulder, restraining a snort at the sight of the weapon. It's not the first time John's had a gun pointed at him, not the first time he's performed a life saving procedure within the cross hairs of a gun that could kill him. It's not the first time he's faced death down while doing his job and he'll be damned if some unstable lunatic will keep him from doing his job now.

"It's alright, just need to increase her oxygen; the stress of the situation is causing her to need more air that's all. Hold onto her hand and talk to her, keep her calm." John tells the elderly man clutching his wife's hand, turning to the canister and adjusting the valve. The gun man snarls and kicks out with a booted foot, catching the former military surgeon on his bad shoulder. John gives a snarling cry and slumps to the floor, his body trembling not just from pain but anger.

"You're a big man, kicking people around with a gun in your hand… scaring old ladies." He snarls, tone even with the undertones of annoyance and anger. Something flashes in the gun man's eyes and he opens his mouth, spittle flying out as he waves the gun menacingly.

"You've got a smart mouth, but I can do something about it." Within a second the gun is pointed towards the elderly woman and her husband, the older man throwing his thin body in front of his wife, his jaw tight but eyes wide.

It's a tense moment, none of them moving.

Only the cries of the baby and quiet sobbing of the other hostages.

Then John's phone goes off in his pocket.

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Author Note: Hmm.. keep going? Scrap it? Review and let me know. Have a good day and thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Title: What Nobody Sees

Rating: T

Summary: Hostage situation. Boring right? Not when your flat mate is the hostage.

Warnings: I know very little about the British Society and wording, so you'll forgive me if I'm just another ignorant American too poor to visit the actual place this story is going on in and can only Google places, buildings and procedures.

Author Note: wow, you guys are amazing! I wasn't sure what to expect by posting in this fandom… I've branched out before and never have had such a good outcome. Your guys keep a writer going and I hope to provide you all with a worthwhile story to read. Shout out to Sarah for giving me a heads up on Pints vs Gallons and terminology. Thanks for reading!

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Chapter two

"How long has he been in there?" Sherlock snaps at Lestrade as he bends fluidly under the caution tape. Lestrade rolls his eyes and glances down at the clip board.

"Silent alarm was tripped about an hour ago. Can't get a clear view inside, the shades were pulled down from the afternoon sun." Lestrade informs the detective as the tall man stops beside him. Sherlock's eyes are locked on the front of the building, narrowed and calculating.

"Do you know anything about the gun man? I need data Lestrade!" He insists, annoyance coloring his pale cheeks as he stares at the building, a bundle of nervous energy as he begins to pace between two cruisers. Lestrade watches the detective, aware that he's becoming more and more frustrated.

"Hey freak! You might want to come here." Anderson calls from where she's bent over the trunk of a cruiser, several of the tech guys standing close by. Sherlock quickly maneuvers himself through the throng, Lestrade not far behind. The small laptop is perched on the trunk, a live feed from inside the bank showing the scene hidden from the outside. Sharp and focused black and white gives the scene a look of an ancient war film, grainy and colorless but the images are real time and the people very much alive.

"Just got the feed up, I have control of the camera's now so I can pan anywhere in the main foyer of the building." One of the tech guys states, moving the camera slightly, the lens taking in the faces of the hostages.

"Stop!" Sherlock commands his finger reaching out to touch the screen. Anderson rolls her eyes and stops the panning camera.

"Move up slightly." The detective orders and with a glare the woman does, her eyes widening a fraction at the scene. John is kneeling beside a faceless woman, his fingers pressed to her wrist. His mouth his moving but because there is no sound those watching can only guess what he's saying. The gun man looms over head, the gun waving wildly.

"He's threatening him…" Sherlock concludes but not going into detail as he watches the small screen. John turns to stare at the gunman, his mouth moving. Sherlock snorts to himself and readjusts the angle of the screen before leaning in close, watching intently. Anderson winces as the gun man slams his foot into the smaller man's shoulder, knowing of the still aching war injury while several of the other men give small grumbles of anger at the mistreatment. Sherlock cringes and quickly pulls out his phone, hitting two buttons and pressing it to his ear.

"what in the hell are you doing?" Lestrade demands and Sherlock cocks and eyebrow in his general direction, tone laced with boredom.

"Standing around watching a video feed isn't going to give me the information I need… so I'm calling him." Sherlock gives as an explanation. Lestrade is about to speak up when Sherlock places his index finger over his lips.

"Shhh… it's ringing." He dictates, leaving Lestrade to gape and Anderson to shake her head with a snort and shoot Lestrade a pleading look. Lestrade only shrugs his shoulder and gestures for the pen in the woman's hand, intent on making any information Sherlock and garner off the subject to good use.

* * *

The mobile's ring echo's off the inside of the bank, seemingly louder than it really is. To John it's slightly muffled due to the rush of blood in his ears, the thump of his heart in the former injury to his shoulder and his own ragged breathing. The gun man cocks his head to the side a bit, akin to that of a curious dog before the gun repositions itself at John's head.

"Go ahead pretty boy… answer it." He snarls menacingly, words rough with aggression. Slowly John reaches into his jacket pocket, fumbling around for the phone before pulling it out and activating the call.

"John?" Sherlock's voice comes through the line and for a moment John feels his stomach drop. He's seen the effects of unstable minds with weapons before and knows all too well what the outcome might be if Sherlock starts to analyze the gun man.

"Put it on speaker… I think your boyfriend is worried." The mad man growls, his finger on the trigger of the weapon. John complies, setting the speaker on so that Sherlock's voice is plainly heard.

"How many hostages John?" Sherlock asks, his words clipped.

"Now just hold on a minute, who exactly is this?" The gun man questions and for a moment the line is silent until finally Sherlock responds.

"This is Sherlock Holmes, who might I be speaking to?" John wants to cringe, Sherlock displaying manners is a bad thing. Oh he has them, John's seen that the Detective was raised with some kind of moral decency, but him being pleasant to a target?

Oh no, this doesn't bode well at all.

"Well Mr. Holmes, I am Seth Lively, Captain in her Majesty's Military." He informs the faceless voice and John's eyes widen slightly and he snorts.

Of course, he'd have to be military.

Sherlock's end is silent for a minute or two.

Two minutes that felt like eternity.

"A Captain in defense of Queen and Country? Perhaps at one time, but you are no longer in possession of that title are you? No, you were discharged, but not dishonorably why else would you still introduce yourself as a Captain with pride? No, you were discharged for another reason, medical perhaps?" Seth's eyes widen behind the lenses of his glasses as he stares down at the phone in John's hand, a look of utter shock and dismay crossing his features.

"H-how…?" he gasps and John analyzes the man before him, noticing the stance and tension. One of the many things he'd brought back with him from his time in Afghanistan was how to evaluate a person just by sight. Sometimes a doctor couldn't always reach his patient during a fire fight, and on numerous occasions he'd have to wait and watch a wounded soldier from afar and shout orders over to another soldier.

"I believe it's because of this medical issue you are here today, holding people at gunpoint is it not? You've run out of money, money being the root of all evils in this world." Sherlock states, sounding smug and sure of himself from somewhere outside. John watches the gun man's face, noting the way his jaw squares and the hand holding the gun trembles a little.

"Sherlock…" he starts but is cut off when the gun man waves the gun once more with a shriek.

"ENOUGH! You know nothing about me, nothing at all! You all live perfect little lives, in your perfect little world, thanking us for a job well done but not really _caring_ what happens to us when we return!" Seth snarls into the phone, spinning around with the gun, causing the people in the room to scream and shrink away in fear.

"None of you understand!" he screams, his emotions running wild as he points the weapon upward, firing off a shot into the ceiling. Plaster and dust fall, almost like a snow over the gunman and John and for a moment the former military doctor is deafened from the report of the gun but he quickly recovers as Seth turns back to him, his eyes filled with tears but narrowed with anger.

"John! Is anyone hurt?" Sherlock yells from the phone as the gun is leveled once more at John's chest. Eyes narrowed the doctor waits, keeping himself between the mad man and the elderly couple behind him, having labeled the man completely unstable and a danger.

"Hang. Up. The. Phone." He growls menacingly.

The phone closes with a loud snap.

"Now go sit down like a good little hostage and behave…" he snarls and waits till John places himself against the marble counter, hands clasped on his stomach before turning away. John glares at the back of the man's head before turning his attention back to the elderly couple across from him. He tries to smile at the elderly man, his face pressed into his wife's white hair but it doesn't come easily.

The sinking feeling in his stomach gets worse.

* * *

Author Note: I apologize for the mix up with the "complete" and "on Going" status of this story. It has been changed. Hope I didn't keep you folks too long, trying to get ready to head home for Thanksgiving. More to come and thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Title: What Nobody Sees

Rating: T

Summary: Hostage situation. Boring right? Not when your flat mate is the hostage.

Warnings: I know very little about the British Society and wording, so you'll forgive me if I'm just another ignorant American too poor to visit the actual place this story is going on in and can only Google places, buildings and procedures.

Author Note: so, I realize that I mixed up Anderson and Donovan, I apologize. I was helping a friend of mine work on a paper about a short story she had to read in which the main character's name is Anderson and it's a she. My bad. Also, as I explained above I am an American and I was raised to spell "check" as in pay check as it has just been spelt. This is most likely different from how it's spelt elsewhere so I ask you to please keep in mind that my wording is different from yours. I can only do so much and still be comfortable in my writings. I am sorry if this offends, but this is how I've always written and always will. Beyond that I thank you all for the many reviews and your continued patronage.

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Chapter three:

The lights flickered and went out completely about twenty minutes after the man on the phone only managed to anger the gunman further, causing him to fire off his gun into the ceiling. The other hostages are silent now; the crying of the baby silenced after one of the elderly women took the little one from its distraught mother, gently rocking the babe into sleep. The hostages are reclined around the interior of the bank and John can feel their eyes on him but can't bring himself to care. His shoulder aches terribly, a throb keeping in time with her heart beat and his leg is cramping again, forcing him to jitter slightly against the cold floor and hard counter but there is little he can do about it. Seth Lively is stalking around behind the counter, his swearing and stomping allowing the former soldier to keep track of him without having to physically see him.

"what are we going to do?" one of the employees asks in a soft whisper amongst themselves their twitching bodies telling John of their nervousness.

"Someone should convince him to let some of the hostages go, at least the elderly and the younger people." John tries not to snort at the man's suggestion, having received training for hostage situations and even having been taken hostage on two occasions he knows it won't work.

"What about that man… the doctor." The woman with dyed auburn hair suggests, her bright red lips and nails pegging her as someone of importance within the bank and judging by the other's reactions she's the alpha.

"It will not work." He states simply, drawing their attention to him as the slamming behind the cashier's counter continues. The alpha female quickly opens her mouth to protest but John holds up his hand, proud to see that the traitorous appendage isn't trembling and continues.

"If you provoke him, tell him what he _should_ do it will never happen. The best option is to sit, wait and let the police do their jobs." He states firmly earning him a scoff from the older man within their circle.

"Obviously you lost your nerve after he put you in your place _doctor_." He snorts and John rolls his eyes, seeing an over confident man who hasn't worked a hard day's work in his life. In any other situation he would have challenged this man but his time spent in Afghanistan taught John when to engage in verbal fights and when not too and to choose his opponent. Instead of firing off all the reasons why their ideas won't work he just shrugs his shoulders, wincing at the pull from the previous injury and leans back.

"Fine, but when you get shot for your stupidity, I'll try my best to save you but no promises." He states and closes his eyes, giving a mental cheer at how gray the larger man's complexion suddenly became at his words. The phone in his pocket vibrates against his hand, making John start and glance down before turning a critical eye to look for the gun man. Slowly John eases the phone from his pocket and clicks open the message. He had forgotten that it was in his pocket, put there during the firing of the gun and the man's threats.

_Lestrade ordered the power cut but I can still see inside. _

John glances up, finding the video camera moving slightly as if nodding and gives a small smirk. Once more glancing around he quickly types of his response.

_Need to get the hostages out… the elderly first then the woman with the baby_

With a shaky breath John sends the message and tucks the phone back into his pocket, just as Seth comes around the corner, his heavy boots clomping loudly on the polished floor. Menacing and stoic Seth seems to have recovered from his previous emotional outburst and walks amongst the hostages like a king would his subjects.

"You, get up." He states with a growl, pointing the barrel of the gun at the woman with garish hair and nails. She gives a sudden sob as the gun is pressed closer but gets to her feet, hands held level with her chest as she trembles.

"Let's go, your opening the safety boxes." He snarls and shoves the woman before him. She trips on her heels but quickly regains her balance and turns, her mascara running down her cheeks in dark rivers. John turns away, his mind producing the tanned face of a woman covered in a traditional khimar, holding a bleeding child and screaming for help. His wounded arm gives a jerk and tremble at the memory, his wounds aching fiercely at the replay of the woman and her dead son. The boy had been shot through the chest, a sudden action that caused no suffering to the child but caused the mother to run to his unit's encampment, blood staining her clothing and hands only to sob harder and scream when John announced there was nothing he could do. That woman had pleaded and begged in her own way, in her own language and broken English, her sobs heart breaking as she cradled the body of her child. The image is something John will never be able to expel from his memory. Bury it, shove it into the deepest part of his mind but it will always be _there, _along with all the other memories.

He doesn't want to add another image.

"Shut up!" Lively snarls and must have made an aggressive gesture for the woman's pleads louder and sobs harder, her words barely understandable under Seth's own screaming.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" he screams and with a deafening roar the gun goes off. John's eyes snap open in time to see the shocked expression on the woman's face as she falls backward, her body boneless as it flops to the ground. People around the foyer scream and cry out but John keeps his eyes firmly on the woman gasping on the ground, her chest heaving as blood begins to spew from her mouth. Seth's own chest heaving and for a moment he looks shocked at what he's just done but his jaw tightens and he turns around, fixing the rest of the foyer with a manic gaze. Without hesitation he thrusts the gun at the head of the large man who had belittled John earlier and wordlessly gestured for him to get up. Sobbing hysterically the man gets to his knees then his feet, snot running out of his nose and tears dripping off his double chins.

"Open them." Lively snarls and the man slowly moves past his fallen co-worker, her body now still but eyes open and staring.

"I-I need to ge-get the k-key." He sobs, stuttering as he tries to draw in air enough to talk. The gun man gestures towards the body, his face an expressionless mask. John had seen that look before, the soulless eyes of soldiers caught up in a firefight for the first time. It's the look of being frightened out of one's wits but determined not to show it. With fumbling hands the large man plucks the keys for the woman's hands, trying not to look at the body and moves with a shuffling gait to behind the counter. Once around John glances over at the woman and slides foreword and places a gentle hand against her throat.

Nothing.

John gently pushes the eyelids down and scoots back, casting a glance over at the other hostages who are now clumped together in a small circle, the elderly patrons and the young mother in the middle, surrounded by younger men and women. It never ceases to amaze John what runs through the human mind in times of distress, to protect the elderly and the young is a good idea and a valiant act but when the rifle barrel plots a deadly course at the outside of the cluster it will show who is really willing to die for their fellow man.

It has also not escaped his attention that John doesn't seem welcomed in their cluster of hero's and in theory martyrs.

He can't help but snort at this just as his phone vibrates. Gently pulling it out of the pocket John accesses the message from Lestrade, quickly followed by a vibrating message from Sherlock.

_What just happened? Is the gun man shooting hostages now? Is there any way to evacuate the injured?_

John grimaces, knowing the Police would have heard the gunshot from outside.

_He's trying to get an employee to open the safety deposit box. Shot one woman, expired. _

He hits send just as a loud crash erupts from behind the counter and the angry screams of the gunman. The hostages twitch closer into each other, afraid of the noises and what they could mean. John quickly opens the message from Sherlock.

_Waiting on the SWAT, useless people._

John isn't sure how to reply but doesn't have the time as Lively comes around the corner, his hands covered in blood.

"Oh doctor… I have a patient for you." Seth nearly grins, madness lighting his eyes. John's stomach sinks low into his stomach as he slowly gets to his feet, slightly worried of what he'll find behind the counter.

* * *

Author Note: Sorry for the delay, traveling back to school and actual school got in the way. I will update again soon though. Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

Title: What Nobody Sees

Rating: T

Summary: Hostage situation. Boring right? Not when your flat mate is the hostage.

Warnings: I know very little about the British Society and wording, so you'll forgive me if I'm just another ignorant American too poor to visit the actual place this story is going on in and can only Google places, buildings and procedures.

Author Note: Thanks to all the wonderful people who have been reviewing, your words are what keep authors going and the ideas flowing!

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Chapter four

"What did you find about Seth Lively?" Lestrade asks as Donovan as the woman approaches. She gives a sigh and drops the folder onto the trunk of the car. Sherlock glances over from where he's been keeping a seemingly unblinking vigil on the front of the bank. Slowly he moves closer and scans the documents while Donovan gives a sigh of annoyance when the thin man places himself directly between her and the documents. She shoots Lestrade a withering look to which the man can only respond with a shrug and the roll of his eyes.

"Do you have any clues into how we can reason with this man?" Lestrade asks as a gloved hand reaches out and quickly flips through the file, stopping at the man's military record.

"How do you reason with a man who has nothing left to lose Lestrade?" he retorts, the leather glove tapping on the paper briefly. Lestrade knows the look in the grey eyes; he's seen it before not long after he's come to some outrageous conclusion.

"I need to speak to this man.." Sherlock trails off as his phone chimes. Without saying a word the man quickly flips it open. Lestrade peers over and catches the small phrase from John.

_Need medical supplies._

"That's our way in. Do you have any of those new ear pieces?" Sherlock asks, his eyes connecting with Lestrade's. For a moment the DI can only gape at the younger man, uncertain of how to respond.

"Oh come now, the security within the police department inventory database is so low a fifteen year old could hack it. I know you have them." He states eerily staring at the other man, his grey eyes freakishly pale compared to the red of his windblown face.

"He needs medical supplies, obviously someone else fell victim to this mad man. It's the only way to keep in contact with him and get a better idea of what's going on in that building." Sherlock declares, anger tinting his tone. Lestrade nods and quickly barks out orders, turning nervous eyes to where Sherlock has gone back to keeping a stern vigil on the bank. Lestrade's men scramble around him, their minds focused on the situation at hand, their bodies moving off fumes having not been able to take a proper break since this insanity began. Lestrade runs a hand through his short cropped hair and sighs before moving towards the paramedics. The least he can do is make sure the Doctor inside gets the supplies he needs and it also allows the DI to slip a few extra items into the red and black medics bag. With a nod to the medic he moves around the side of the utility vehicle and pulls out his own hand gun, tucking it down inside the medical bag. Donovan steps around the side, a small white case in her hand and gives her boss a calculating look.

"Are you sure this is going to work… this might make him more of a target." Stating her opinion as Lestrade removes the bone conduction communicator from her grip and places it in a side pocket beneath compression bandages.

"It might not be a good idea and yes it might draw more attention to him but as of right now, we have no reliable eyes or ears inside that building. One person is dead and another in need of medical attention. You once told me that the man standing over there will someday be the person placing the bodies for us to find, that he'll crack and become one of those we bring to justice, think about it Donovan… what happens if John is the next victim, what do you think will happen to that man?" Lestrade asks, drawing the woman up short. Her mouth gapes open for a moment, dark eyes darting over to where Sherlock is leaning over the unreliable camera feed, his sharp eyes narrowed and studying.

"What do you think would happen?" she breathes, words soft and tone worried. Lestrade shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders, zipping up the medic's bag with a flick of his wrist.

"I don't know, but it won't be good. The Moriarty case nearly drove Sherlock to his breaking point and when we pulled the two of them out of that wreckage you weren't there to see the twitching mess that man was until we found John. I don't know what will happen if something should happen to that man inside the bank, but it's our duty both as members of the London police force and I consider John Watson a friend, as do many of those who have been around him on a case. We owe it to him to provide him with whatever aid he needs." Lestrade states and walks past Donovan, leaving the woman stunned and speechless. He wasn't lying, he did consider the former military doctor a friend and doesn't doubt that the Doctor can take care of himself and has the training and probably the experience to handle the situation but it's a situation he would rather not see the former soldier in.

"You need to text John and tell him one of the S.W.A.T guys are going to drop the medical supply bag by the side door." Lestrade states firmly and waits a moment for Sherlock to start typing before whistling for one of the men to take the bag. Members of S.W.A.T cut an imposing figure and carry themselves with an air of intimidation when suited up in their gear, but beneath that he can see the familiar mustache the boys were making fun of last night at the pub beneath the face shield. Clark nodded his head at the Detective's instructions, the mirth and enjoyment from the light teasing gone from the man's eyes as he set his shoulders and approached the line of police cars, moving slowly to the side door of the bank, red bag stark against his black armor. Every officer behind the line hold their breath, aware that all it would take is a single bullet to make the situation much, much worse. Clark places the bag down and slowly walks backward, hands still raised until he meets the gloved hands of his S.W.A.T mates.

"Now what?" Donovan asks as she slides up beside him. Sherlock gives the woman a withering glare and indicated to where a sharp shooter is stationed at the building across from the doorway.

"Should this man be stupid enough to get the bag himself, which they usually aren't—nice try Lestrade- they will shoot him down. Strange, one single shot can end all this if he's just stupid enough to step out of the building." Sherlock surmises and turns back to watching the bank. Donovan shakes her head, looking disgusted before walking away. Lestrade stands beside the tall detective, his hands in his pants pocket and eyes glued to the bag.

Is it wrong, for a police officer to wish a criminal was stupid enough to open the door?

No, it's not.

* * *

John isn't sure what to expect when he walks around the corner into the lock box room. Seth follows behind him, gun in hand and ready. He hesitates outside the shattered door his mind warping the scene to a small abode made of mud brick and mortar, sand snapping at the exposed skin on his face. He blink to try and clear the scene, remembering the image of those inside the building, their home, shot up and bleeding. The images clear slowly, leaving the doctor's rebellious hand trembling and his breath coming in short gasps.

"Get in there." Seth snarls, jabbing the barrel of the gun into the small of John's back, coaxing him to move forward. John takes a deep breath and slowly steps through the smashed in doorway, aware of the blood and glass littering the floor. During his time in Afghanistan John saw firsthand the destruction a human can produce against another and learned how to react to the situation not to the faces of the boys he tried to save.

The man lying on a growing puddle of red had no face.

He had no name.

He was just another person in need of his skill.

Absently he notices that his hand has stopped shaking as his clinical mind takes over, categorizing the injuries to the faceless man as which is the most life threatening. Dropping down John barely feels the sharp glass cutting into his knees but starts to tick off vitals to himself, noting the man's open eyes and wheezing sobs.

"I need a first aid kit." John states, falling into what the doctors under him called his 'business tone', a tone that causes the former military man in Seth to snap too, his eyes narrowing slightly. For a second both former military men stare at each other, a test of wills. John went up against some of the biggest players in the Afghanistan war rooms and wasn't about to cower to this man.

"Over there." He snaps, coming back to his roll of gun toting mad man. With a scathing look John moves over to where the gun was vaguely pointing. Flipping open the small container John nearly laughs at the pitiful collection of fabric band aids and alcohol wipes.

"I asked for a first aid kit, not a paper cut readiness box." John snarls, tossing the box to the side. Seth glares and makes a threatening move as John pulls out his cell phone, quickly typing off a text.

"Who are you sending that too?" Seth intimidates, thrusting the gun into John's face. For a moment the doctor rethinks his choice of being so bold, getting himself shot won't help any of the hostages and certainly not improve his day.

But really, what does he have to lose?

"I need medical supplies, since you went through the trouble of bringing me back here I assume you want me to help this man. I can't help him without the proper medical supplies which can only be supplied by the scores of medics sitting outside this building and the police." John snarls, his body tense and at the ready. Seth's teeth grit as he flicks his eyes back to the fallen employee, now moaning pitifully and the back at John.

"Do you think you can save him?" he asks slowly, licking his lips and adjusting his grip on the gun. John glances back at the man once more before giving a slow nod.

"But only with the correct medical supplies." He responds just in time, his phone chimes to tell him he's got an incoming text.

"It's your choice. Either I get those supplies and that man lives, or I don't and you go down for two accounts of murder, armed robbery and a handful of other charges." John informs, playing only half of his hand. Seth seems to contemplate for a moment, his eyes suddenly showing how unsure he really is and for a split second John can only wonder what type of trouble this young man got himself into for him to take a bank hostage.

"This is how it's going to work…" Seth states, his eyes growing hard once more. John's stomach twitches with relief as the man wordlessly listens to his instructions.

* * *

Author Note: I only have 1 week and a day left of school, then home for winter break. Thanks for reading and if you feel so inclined by all means drop me a review. Thanks!


	5. Chapter 5

Title: What Nobody Sees

Rating: T

Summary: Hostage situation. Boring right? Not when your flat mate is the hostage.

Warnings: I know very little about the British Society and wording, so you'll forgive me if I'm just another ignorant American too poor to visit the actual place this story is going on in and can only Google places, buildings and procedures.

Author Note: I'm taking a break from writing a paper about Dakota a horse at the barn to type on this. Yes, its finals week but I'm taking time to type this out when my brain begins to fry from studying. Unless I'm sitting in Watson's room, then I'm just dicking off and doing nothing. 'cause that's how I role and my friend and I are going to be cosplaying them at Anime Boston this spring. Yup, so, answering a few questions….

No, this isn't a slash fic, if you want to read up on why I don't do slash by all means go check out my profile.

These chapters are short due to my lack of time to actually write these out and complete my ideas. Seriously, I end up droning on and on and then the chapters become crap… kind of like this author note.

Stopping now, onto the fiction.

* * *

Chapter five

"You're sure about this?" John questions the younger man as he trembles beside him. Their standing near the side entrance of the bank, the medical bag containing the much needed supplies sitting just three steps away from the door, just waiting for someone to retrieve it. Seth stands just out of sight of the door, rifle held at the ready as John tries to give the teen a few comforting words. He was never good at that kind of thing, he could never figure out what to say to his patients to encourage them.

"If I don't do it than he would have forced one of the elderly or the mother there to do it or you. You're a doctor, if we need anyone it's you." He states simply, tightening his jaw and squaring his shoulders in an attempt to muster some kind of courage. John gives a small smile and claps the younger man on the shoulder, still unsure of what to say but at his touch the youngster seems to grow just a bit stronger.

"You will go out, grab the back and return. Nothing hard, you don't have to say anything just grab the bag and come back in. Careful it might be heavy." John states, tone leaving no room for argument.

"What's your name?" John asks softly. The teen draws in a shaky breath and answers.

"Thomas Thatcher." He responds slowly and John nods his head.

"Thank you Thomas, you're a brave boy." He states and gently pushes open the door leading out to where the bag is waiting. Jealousy balls in John's stomach at the sight of Thomas, outside in the clean air even if only for a moment. He's never considered himself a claustrophobic person but being stuck inside the bank; in a high tension situation John feels it now, the walls and air growing thick around him. He swallows bile as his stomach jumps, his eyes scanning the space around the boy. He hesitates for a split second, a second shadow appearing for a split second. Thomas' mouth moves in a stage whisper before the boy nods, accepting something from a fingerless leather glove. Thomas tucks whatever it is into his jeans pocket and nods again, slowly moving back to the door.

"What's taking him so long?" Seth snaps from his place and John jumps at the snarl, his body jolting into movement as Thomas reenters the bank, his hand trembling. Gently John pries the medical bag from his fingers, wincing as his abused war injury protests loudly at being forced to hold the weight of the bag. For a moment the former doctor curses himself for the injury and his own uselessness, once he was able to carry a bag such as this for miles through the sand and duck through a barrage of bullets, move injured soldiers into better cover and now he can barely hold onto the bag that defined him for so long.

"Sit back down boy." Seth snarls gesturing with his gun. John wordlessly nods his approval to Thomas as the teen passes by before moving away, heading for the injured man in the back room. Back rigid and tight John quickly falls into the soldier/doctor roll again and quickly opens the bag, assessing his patient's condition, ticking off the seconds as the blood pulses through the large man's veins. Although not fully oblivious to the world around him John allows Seth and his gun toting madness to fall into the background, his attention focused solely on the man bleeding before him from a dozen cuts. Shards of glass are imbedded into his forearms, the wounds bleeding sluggishly from around the thick glass.

"Some of these hit the major arteries and large veins…" John states mostly to himself, a habit formed on the battlefield to better catalog injuries.

"Then why isn't he spurting blood everywhere?" Seth asks cautiously from where he's standing, leaning against the row of lock boxes. John shoots the man a seething look before returning his attention back to the injured man.

"Because the glass is helping more than hindering at this point, he's bleeding but not gushing because the glass is keeping pressure on the wounds." John states aggressively before wiping his hands on his jeans and turning to the large medical bag. Well organized and packed John is able to quickly find the Quickclot bandages and the powder, scissors and rubber gloves. Methodically he lays them out and pulls on the gloves, setting to the familiar job of applying the quick clot and bandages and getting lost in the smell of blood and medicine once more.

* * *

"He's so young…" Lestrade remarks as the teen moves slowly out of the bank's interior and picks up the medic's bag. He stops for a moment and looks out at the gathered police and his eyes widen. Just as slowly he turns and is about to move back into the building when a dark suited man slides along the wall, stopping his progress with a small movement.

"Who the hell is _that_?" Donovan shrieks, her walkie talkie flying to her mouth as she barks orders as Lestrade stares at the man. He's seen men like that before, often stalking around the crime scenes in which Sherlock helps on.

"Is that…" he starts

"Yes, my brother must be watching and decided John needed some extra leverage in his struggle with this mad man. Don't worry inspector, I'm sure we'll be getting the information too…" his phone chimes from his jacket pocket.

"Ah, here it is." And hands Lestrade his phone. The detective takes the smart phone and scans over the information, eyes widening slightly at the much more detailed history of the man inside.

"Shit." He breathes and Sherlock nods, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

"I hate this." He whispers so softly that Lestrade cocks and eyebrow at the other man.

"Pardon?" he questions stepping closer to the taller man.

"I hate this! Give me any problems, any riddle and I can solve them… but.. give me a human, a living puzzle and it -It's like Moriarty all over again, just the factors have changed. "He states and suddenly Lestrade sees how vulnerable the genius truly is. It's not the first time that Lestrade's assumptions that John Watson is Sherlock's only friend.

"He'll be fine Sherlock, he's a tough guy and knows how to handle himself, and time spent in Afghanistan made sure of that." Lestrade states, finding it odd to comfort the genius as he stands outside of the situation, frustration lining his face at being unable to help his friend and fellow lodger. For a moment Lestrade is brought back to the scene at the pool, finding Sherlock stumbling among the rubble, hands bleeding and voice hoarse from screaming. It took three of the larger men to haul the thin, shell of a detective out of the remains of concrete and rebar. He can see the same anxiety he saw that night working its way to the surface.

And it worries him.

Sherlock Holmes is a man separate from all human emotion, separated from the kindness society forces on people. He's oblivious to everything and anyone around him, except for John Watson. When it comes to that man Lestrade has no doubt that that Sherlock will walk through hell and back for him and John for Sherlock. Theirs is a relationship that works and although not understood by those around them it's obvious that without each other they'd be lost.

"Don't worry…"

"He'll be fine, yes I know." Sherlock snaps and Lestrade backs off, knowing when to engage the bull and when not too. Instead he goes back to analyzing the information, comparing both the paper file and the electronic ones.

"I have an idea. Sherlock, come look at this." Lestrade states, drawing the genius' attention.

* * *

Author Note: Yes, I know it's short, blah blah blah, but I'm ending it here. To be continued after finals and probably while waiting for my sister's baby – my nephew- to be born. Update again soon, promise! Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

Title: What Nobody Sees

Rating: T

Summary: Hostage situation. Boring right? Not when your flat mate is the hostage.

Warnings: I know very little about the British Society and wording, so you'll forgive me if I'm just another ignorant American too poor to visit the actual place this story is going on in and can only Google places, buildings and procedures.

Author Note: I have no idea what to say here beyond… YOU GUYS ROCK! Is it pathetic that I stop to stare at the two cold fish –Captain America and Elliot- while writing this?

* * *

Chapter six

The large man is resting comfortably against the rows of lock boxes, his breathing labored but John can tell not from any kind of trauma he'd sustained. Seth is flipping through one of the boxes, his fingers rifling through documents and paperwork, gun resting on the table beside him like a faithful companion. John watches him for a moment as he methodically places the items he'd used back into the bag and cleaning the scissors with the alcohol wipes. Placing each item back into the bag John's fingers strike something cool, hard and smooth as his brain supplies the only answer available, the word snapping through his mind like a firework.

_Gun_

_Police issued Glock_

Schooling his features to be expressionless John moves his body to obscure the view as he pulls the gun out and tucks it into his jacket pocket, sending up a silent thank you for having chosen a jacket with deep pockets. The gun feels heavy and reassuring in his pocket, the presence reminding him of the ever present rifle he carried through the sands of Afghanistan. In war time the weapon that defends you becomes your best friend.

"Is he all set doctor?" Seth snarls angrily, picking up his own rifle and moving around the table to stand menacingly over the small man. John glances once more at the large bank employee before nodding silently.

"He's stable, just unconscious. I'll need to keep my eye on him though, in case there are any problems." He informs sternly, the turmoil and displeasure he's feeling rolling out off his tongue. Seth regards him for a moment before waving the rifle a universal signal to have John get up. He obeys and stands with his arms at his side, muscle twitching in his jaw as the gunman grabs one of the man's upper arms and in a single motion hefts his weight into his shoulder.

_A marine then… front lines most likely. _John processes, making the connection between the ability to carry an unconscious man, the cool relationship with the gun and the barking of orders.

"How long do you intend for this to go on?" John asks in Pashto, the language all soldiers serving in Afghanistan learn to understand if not speak completely. Seth stares at the smaller man for a few moments before a sick smile curls his lips.

"I see you know." He states in the same language, his tone icy and sharp. Wordlessly John hauls up the medical bag and precedes the man out into the foyer once more, his eyes skirting over the body of the dead woman and then to the other hostages, huddled in the corner and watching nervously.

"Sit." He orders, the harshness of the Pashto language making several of the hostages jump as John settles himself down not too far from them. His shoulder screams at him from the weight of the bag and its previous abuse, the nerves and muscles unwilling to cooperate and sets his hand trembling. He's been on edge for too long, nerves strung too tight and his mind in battlefield mode. Now, sitting on the floor John allows himself a moment to relax and take in the scene around him. Outside the glass windows the sun is starting to set casting the grey buildings in an orange hue. He can see people moving but is unable to make out their uniforms.

"Will he be okay?" Thomas asks, casting the unconscious man a worried look. John sighs and shrugs then closes his eyes wearily, his head falling back to rest against the pillar, body sore and weary.

"Yes, he will be for now." He states, eyes still closed. For a moment the world is silent and nonexistent, peaceful and a welcomed relief. During the breaks in the firefights John would often find himself settle back against a wall or house, his body numb and mind over taxed. The world in those few moments held no movement, no sound. Just the pulsing of his own heart and the breathing of the men around him a they also took several moments to relax and gain back some of their nerves.

"A man gave this to me…" Thomas whispers and John's eyes snap open, his muscles tensing as the younger man slides closer. John glances around, finding Seth staring outside from one of the smaller windows and slowly extends his hand. Thomas gently places a neatly penned note in his hand and quickly slides back to his former position beside the elderly couple. John quickly huddles in on himself, opening the note behind drawn up knees and quickly scans the words.

_1300 hours, make a distraction for Seth Lively. My men will extract the hostages. Inside your medical bag you will find a Bone Conduction communicator. – M.H_

John bites back a curse and quickly folds up the note and nods to Thomas before rummaging through the medical bag, his hands running over objects he can identify without looking at. In the corner beneath some pressure dressings is a small box and John frowns, pulling it out. It's a small ear bud, flesh covered and light. Mycroft wouldn't have mentioned it if he didn't think it was important, so with nimble fingers the former military surgeon opens the box and slips the bud into place, wincing slightly at the coolness of the rubber.

"I really wish he'd put that damn bud in." Lestrade's voice carries over the transmission and John can't help but smirk at the annoyance in his voice. Lestrade is many things, but patient isn't one of them and someday the detective will end up with ulcers, if he doesn't already have them.

"The situation is as follows…" John begins, tucking his chin down into the collar of his jacket to muffle his speech and disguise the movement of his mouth.

"John!" Sherlock's voice exploded in his ear.

"Shut up Sherlock!" Lestrade snarls as the detective makes a choking noise, obviously showing his displeasure at being cut off.

"John, what's the situation?" Lestrade asks and the former soldier can almost _see_ the detective standing at the trunk of a police car, pen and yellow note pad at the ready glaring at Sherlock as the eccentric detective hovers nearby nearly jumping with unspent energy.

"There's a total of seven hostages, one injured, three elderly, one teen and a mother and child." He rattles off, knowing that Lestrade is taking down the notes.

"Medical is as follows, male hostage injured with lacerations to arteries on arms and unconscious but stable. Elderly woman with breathing problems, one dead." He continues, wanting to give those rescuers as much information as he can to help them extricate the hostages better.

"Alright, I'll get this to the extraction team." Lestrade states and must have taken off because Sherlock's voice filters in, clear and crisp as if nothing was amiss.

"How are you faring John?" he asks smoothly and for a moment the former soldier thinks about lying but the man outside quickly shuts that option down quickly.

"Don't lie to me either, I can tell by the uneven pitch of your voice that something is wrong and since your former military training won't allow you to cave under something like this than it must be physical. So, truthfully now, how are you doing?" He coolly asks, causing the man to roll his eyes and the corners of his mouth twitch upward.

"It's… nothing I can't handle." He states firmly trying to school his tone into a relaxed one but knows he's failed at the sigh from the lithe man.

"I.." he begins but is cut off by Lestrade's voice over the com.

"Alright John, I hate to put you into more danger but we need someone to distract Lively while the teams get the hostages out." Lestrade states firmly but John can hear the hesitation in the man's voice. In another life he might have considered this to be an insane risk but now, it's slowly becoming everyday life.

"Alright, give me a moment." He states simply and gives Thomas a look, tilting his head to indicate the young man to come closer. Thomas slides slowly till he's within a comfortable whispering distance, before speaking John licks his lips nervously.

"Listen, I'm going to need your help one more time Thomas." He states and the teen nods sheepishly.

"A team is going to come through those doors and get you all out of here. I'm going to need you to help them get the elderly out. Don't be a hero but if you can, help them." He states firmly and the teen nods again, his jaw tightening.

"Good boy." John states affectionately before gathering his strength and reserves.

"What are you going to do?" Thomas asks nervously and John shoots the boy a small smile and hopes he doesn't look as insane as he feels.

"Going to be the one thing I hate in this world the most." He responds cryptically and stands, pulling the Glock out of his pocket.

"What's that?" Thomas whispers as John checks the clip and thumbs off the safety.

"A hero."

* * *

Author Note: Yes, sorry to stop there but I will update again around Christmas since I'll have plenty of time to write in the hotel. Please review if you deem it worthy and have a good Holiday!


	7. Chapter 7

Title: What Nobody Sees

Rating: T

Summary: Hostage situation. Boring right? Not when your flat mate is the hostage.

Warnings: I know very little about the British Society and wording, so you'll forgive me if I'm just another ignorant American too poor to visit the actual place this story is going on in and can only Google places, buildings and procedures.

Author Note: Sorry guys! I know I said it would be up before Christmas and I tried but seeing as this is the worst Christmas ever for my family, the arrival of my nephew (Dec. 24 at 11:15 am.. 9lbs 10 oz) and all the dramatic shit that went on since my sibling is a complete ass I had little time to write. Since I've been home I've also been putting in hours at the barn I work at, so I've had little time to write. So, yes it's late but here it is!

* * *

Chapter seven

The words uttered by John drew everyone listening to the transmission from the ear bud up short, their eyes widening slightly at the lack of emotion in the man's voice. The members of Scotland Yard who had worked closely with Sherlock's flat mate have all developed the same opinion of the former soldier and it was that he was a good man and considered one of the yarders.

"Seth!" John's voice calls from over the frequency, along with the click-snap of a gun being drawn. Lestrade holds his breath as Sherlock twitches slightly, his eyes narrowing into sharp slits.

"Oh ho, wanna play doctor?" Seth mocks, the sound of a much larger gun being cocked makes Lestrade close his eyes. It's not something he would have risked, asking the war injured former military doctor to be the distraction while his team evacuated the hostages, but there was no one else.

"Don't worry, he might not _like_ heroes but he has the heart of one." Sherlock states firmly, his words pulling the detective out of his thoughts.

"There was that time he threw himself into someone to knock them out of the way of a moving vehicle." Lestrade states, licking his lips and looks back at the building.

"Yeah, then he got up and did some emergency first aid on the driver when it finally crashed." Donovan states and Sherlock nods.

"He brandished a plunger and went boldly into the bathroom that time too…" he trails off at the looks Lestrade and Donovan were giving him and quickly adds "Well, it was a big, water spewing problem. He emerged victorious as well." He states hurriedly as Donovan shakes her head with a mutter of "freak" under her breath before moving away. Lestrade turns his attention back to the voices coming over the transmission, his breath catching with every word.

"Are you going to shoot me doctor?" Seth asks sarcastically.

"If I have to, to stop this madness… yes." John states sternly in what the men around the Yard dubbed his 'military' voice. The tone is almost chilling coming from a warm, personable man like John Watson and must have sent many of men shivering in their boots at the chill even in the warm climate of Afghanistan.

"Ooh, I think I should be worried. Hate to break it to you doctor, but my guns bigger than yours." Seth states and Sherlock shakes his head.

"that may be, but I am a better shot." John retorts tersely as the corner of Sherlock's mouth turns upward at the distinctive tone in his flat mate's voice. Lestrade had heard the tone before on numerous occasions when someone needed to be put in their place or taken down a notch or two.

"Get the hostages out now." Lestrade orders into his radio and watches with hands on his hips as the men on the extraction team begin to move in, a hand on the shoulder in front of them. It only takes a matter of second till Seth's angry voice rattles in Lestrade's ears.

"What the fuck!" along with several shouts from the team as they round up the hostages and move them out of the bank. Sherlock shakes his head at the lot of them, trembling and crying as the members of the black clad SWAT team cover their escape. Honestly, the reaction of the human mind when under duress will never cease to confuse him.

"Stand down or I will shoot you!" John orders, the edge to his voice hard and uncompromising. Sherlock's head snaps back to the front of the bank, his eyes widening a fraction. Lestrade's walkie talkie starts to squawk with voices.

"The hostages are out, John I'm going to give the boys the go ahead and their coming in to get that son of a bitch." Lestrade snaps, his anger rising at the sight of the elderly people and the young mother over by the ambulances, their shaking bodies wrapped in the bright yellow blankets.

"Their coming to get you Seth, either way your little temper tantrum is at an end." John states slowly from somewhere inside the bank, the communicator picking up on his tone and the stressed tinge to his words.

"Is that what you think this is Doctor man? A temper tantrum? You have no idea what I've seen, what I've done." Seth justifies angrily as the audience outside the bank listen with baited breath. Lestrade's fingers tap a rhythm less tempo on the hood of the cruiser, his eyes shifting nervously to where the SWAT team was assembling.

"That's where you're wrong…" John states sternly and Sherlock can almost envision his friend tightening his grip on the gun, the muscle in his jaw standing out as he clenches his jaw and tenses his shoulder.

"You've never seen people.." Seth starts but the doctor cuts him off.

"Oh, I've seen people. In a much more intimate way. Limbs blown off by mines, arteries shredded from bullets. Oh, I've seen children cut down by bombs while out just trying to earn money for their family. I've seen mothers hugging their husbands and children, sobbing into the dirt as they try to hold in their own intestines. Seen women, girls maimed by the men their supposed to love because of a belief I don't understand. I've seen bigger men than you sobbing into the shoulders of their brothers because I and my staff were unable to save him after his hummer was blown to bits, shrapnel carving off half his face." John's words drawn tears to the eyes of Donovan and the harder, veteran members of the Yard up short. Lestrade had seen the news reports, seen the men in the hospital and read reports of incidents involving the returning vets but to hear of some of the things John had seen sends a chill down his spine.

"How does he deal with it?" he asks quietly, the questions posed to no one in particular but Sherlock angles himself to give Lestrade an almost quizzical look, his eyes narrowed a fraction.

"The same way you deal with multiple homicides. Some days aren't as good as others, but he deals and moves on just like anyone else does." He states before turning his attention back to the front of the bank. The two men inside are silent and within the span of a minute Lestrade is giving the order to the group of black clad SWAT members.

"Move in."

* * *

Author Note: Almost done guys. Sorry again for the long wait. I'm into another fandom and have been reading like mad, plus working and doing family stuff. Real life gets in the way and it's no fun. Does anyone know when the new season of Sherlock will be aired? Thanks for reading!


End file.
